


How my life was destroyed

by Infernium



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood Loss, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Consensual Sex, Depression, F/M, Forced blowjobs, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Infant Death, Insanity, Loneliness, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Memories, Multi, Mutilation, Nostalgia, Partner Betrayal, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape Fantasy, Sadism, Sexual Abuse, Stabbing, Torture, Violence, throat hole rape?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infernium/pseuds/Infernium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Canon story of Eddie Gluskin which outlines his childhood, major events in his life and the progression that lead him to become a patient at Mount Massive. The story is divided into parts which depict a host of major events that impacted Gluskin's sanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1 - Henry

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this is my first fan fiction IN HISTORY, so I apologize if it is crappy or uneventful. I have read most of the fan fics on this topic and decided to take a swing at this myself. I am welcomingly open to criticism, and suggestions.
> 
> Also- I am the type of person who randomly takes chapters and revises them for no apparent reason (Which ends up in me adding stuff) so yeah... if you read this once and the re-read this in a month, some stuff may be changed.

"Smack!" I hear a loud noise, followed by loud whimpers and what seems like pleas for mercy. I hear another smack and the sound of cursing. "I work hard all day long for you, I slave for you at the factory and breathe in disgusting fumes in order to come home and see THIS?!" the words are filled with anger and loathing, but now that I recall that event, it seems as though there might have been a hint of sadism in his words. It may be my mind adding onto my memory, so don't take my word for it. I pressed my pillow closer to me when I heard crying, loud, awful crying. Such pleas were always ignored, and this time was no different from the dozens of times that my father came back from work angry to realize that his dinner was not prepared in a manner that he liked. Many of my nights were spent like this - myself, all bundled up in a poor excuse for a bed, pressing my pillow to my chest as though it was a friend of some sort who I longed for my entire childhood; my brother Henry stirring in the crib from all the noise behind the thin wall of our clumsily built house. I would sometimes dare to stand up, gently lift my brother, and bring him to my bed simply because his small wails contrasted so miserably, so horribly with the cries of my mother and the abusive accusations of my father. Those three noises together echoed the sins end miseries of the entire world to my ears. The warmth would coo my brother to stop moaning and he would sink into the embraces of sleep, only to be awoken again by a sharp wound to the ears and heart from mother's crying.

When my mother gave birth to me, she was a strong and graceful woman, and I think that was the reason I was not as ripped off as my brother was by the womb. He was born weak, possibly due to my mother being constantly abused and malnourished - her depression didn't allow her to eat even though she knew that she was hurting the small life that was developing inside of her. When Henry was first handed to my mother by the doctor, the medic said that the boy is likely to develop tuberculosis, so it is important to give him vitamins and to feed him in generous portions: "Mrs. Gluskin, I understand that you are not a wealthy woman, but I cannot stress the necessities of you feeding and caring for your child properly." The words resonate in my mind to the very day. My mother followed that command as best as she could, but it seemed as though the red blush in my brother's cheeks was withering by the month, and no prayer, no plea to the heavens could turn that around. I helped as much as a child of 5 years could. I changed my brother's bedding often, I sang him songs in order to calm him and apart from my parents who were too engulfed in their abusive relationship, I actually played with Henry, and tried to teach him about colors and letter to the extent that I knew about them. In contrast to the many nights that I have comforted my little brother and helped him sleep, this night was different.

"You filthy, lazy whore!" a hand dark with soot rose once again to damage an already deformed and wet face. "STOP!" I finally found the courage to scream. I have done it once before when I was young and naive, when I had not known the consequences of interrupting my mother's "schooling". I was rewarded with not only a sharp pain in the back of my head, but with a night spent outside, in the cold fall weather. My father said that if I were to interrupt a second time, he wouldn't be this merciful. "Edward, what have I told you about intervening?" my father changed his tone of voice to a hiss as he stared at me wide-eyed. I caught a glimpse of my mother by the wall as my father slowly began to approach me. Her hair and hands covered her face which I did not wish to see in the least. She was on her knees, bending down, unable to utter a word of defense neither for me, nor herself. I felt my father's hand grip my collar, as his other hand flew into the air in order to gain momentum: "What have I told you about intervening, boy?!" I shut my eyes in fear. "Henry..." I said "Henry stopped breathing." I felt my collar loosen, and my legs collapse in fear. My father marched into the children’s' room and I believe I may have heard him curse, and possibly even sob under his breath. Soon there were phone calls, ambulances, and my parents departed for a night's trip to the hospital. I was left alone in the little rural excuse for a house that we had. I was scared. My parents had left swiftly and I was ordered to stay. I did not protest, much like I've done my entire life. The cost of protests or rebellions were high, very high.

I was stuck alone in the middle of the night, with nothing to do in order to banish the fear of every little creak and squeak that I heard, or imagined to hear, which prompted my imagination to create all kinds of disgusting images. Dead children crawling the walls, the gleaming red eye of a strange man with a sharp weapon in his hand, shadows with arms that were all too real. Those horrors haunted me as I ran to my parents' room through the dark hallway, shut the door, and quietly sang to myself, hummed the sweet tunes that my mother would sometimes hum while doing the laundry or the dishes. I curled myself onto my father's chair and wept bitterly into my bare knees. Even if someone were to invade my home, there are miles of empty fields and desolate patches of forest surrounding it; nobody would hear my screams, nobody would come to the rescue. I wouldn't even be able to run away with no safety to run to. I wish school would start soon - I hated the hot summer nights that would aggravate my father into exploding with rage at every slip up he'd notice. He looked for them, he wanted my mother and I to make mistakes so that he could justify himself in front of his own conscience when he punished us.  
It would be my first year of school, I thought, my very first time setting foot into a class with children, possibly, just like myself. I would be able to share my worries and fears with them and they will understand much better than the stray cat that sometimes follows me when I go to the stream to catch tadpoles or my brother, who I've been talking to constantly for the two drawn out years that he has lived on this planet. I was scared about my brother - whose warmth will I rely on when the cries of my mother rip the chords of my heart out at night and make my insides freeze? Whose beating heart will comfort me when I feel as though mine has stopped dead in its tracks from the fears and troubles I experience daily?  
Those questions have went unanswered even to this day, for there was no answer.

I remember hearing a cock crow somewhere far away, and the light of dawn breaking through the curtains of my parents' room. I had huddled myself onto my father's big chair, and have fallen asleep in the most uncomfortable sitting position. I stood up. My neck and back hurt badly from being arched for hours. I almost felt like it was a bad dream that my brother was taken away, and my parents have departed, but it was, never the less, not a dream but a cold, heart-wrenching reality.  
The door of the house creaked open hours later, and my father marched in, followed by my mother, floating into the corridor like a ghost. I didn't have to ask in order to understand the horrible reality.

Henry had died.

I don't think I could really understand or even fathom what has happened that night. A person who I felt so close to disappeared. His heart stopped with the snap of fingers, like it was nothing, like it wasn't important. I don't think I can realize to this day the horrific event that the death of my brother was to me, even though my childhood mind tried to repress it at all costs.


	2. Part 2 - Francis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, the protagonist described his enrolment into school as a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is terrible writing isn't it

You have no idea how glad I was when I realized that my school actually provided a bus to pick up students who lived farther away. The bus also traveled early so that meant that I could leave early and come back late - not having to see my mother or my father for a good portion of the day. This made me so happy, for they never got along, and it caused me great agony to see my father strike my helpless mother.

I remember exiting my house on the cool Monday morning of September the 1st and trotting along to the designated bus stop quietly. I kicked a few pebbles and it never even occurred to me that there were great dangers in walking around rural areas in the early morning for a boy of 6 years. This never occurred to my parents either, and I believe that lady luck was on my side my entire early life, for I have never encountered neither a person nor a wild animal during my walks.  
The bus stop was rather beat up - a wooden bench and a thin metal pole with a wooden plaque attached to it. The plaque had a number - presumably the number of the stop, or the bus. It didn't matter that much. I would rather sit in the cold for half an hour and wait for the bus than listen to my father blaming my mother for his lively unhappiness, and my mother covering her face with raw hands, for she would usually wash our clothing and prepare our food until very late in the night. She was defenseless, and so was I. I hated myself for leaving the house and, what it seemed like to me, abandoning my helpless mother, but there was nothing I could do other than shield my eyes. 

Soon enough, a large orange vehicle emerged from the morning fog, and stopped in order to receive me as another passenger. It had the sign "D.M. School" on it. I entered the bus, and eyed the seats - there were already a few children sitting there. I sat in an empty seat and placed my bag onto the empty space beside me, then I turned my face gloomily towards the window; it was my first day, and I was really nervous. I was expecting to see a large amount of people, and it would be unusual and most likely overwhelming, since I was used to seeing only three...I mean two people daily. It's been a month since Henry passed away.

The ride was about half an hour, and it has picked up a significant amount of other children on the way. The whole bus was pretty soon full of laughter, whining and talking. I, however, didn't feel good about talking to others. There was a feeling in my gut that stopped me - I wasn't used to talking in general because I was afraid I might get punished for making a mistake or saying something undesirable even if my conscious mind knew that my father wasn't around. "Hi! My name's Francis, what's yours?" a voice beside me awoke me from my reflections on life. "Uh...Hello Francis, my name is Eddie." I said, unsure of myself, or how to continue the conversation. I felt anxiety pour over me in showers. "So are you excited for school?" Francis said cheerfully. I examined him: he was a taller boy than me, definitely older. He had brown curly hair and rather big eyes, he looked alpine with a hint of Nordic, when he spoke, I noticed that he was missing a few teeth which have most likely fallen out to make room for adult ones. "I don't know," I said "It is my first day, so I'm not sure what to expect." at that Francis laughed: "You talk like such a nerd, I like you. Just go with the flow bro, and you'll be fine. I remember when it was MY first day last year, and it's not that scary..." Francis babbled on, and I listened to an extent. He was a big talker, and I was the type that would rarely say anything simply because I was scared of something I myself didn't know anything about. "So how's your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?" The question came at me at a more sudden pace than the abusive hand of my father would. I felt a knot in my stomach, and a lump in my throat. I couldn't tell him about Henry. I finally collected myself and said "No, I don't."

"Cool. Well I have a younger brother and two older sisters. Their names are Samuel, Bethany and Sarah. Sometimes Sarah annoys me so much because..." Francis continued babbling happily, thinking that I was paying attention. I felt horrible about myself. I was finally distracted by the sharp stop of the bus, and the hiss of the doors opening. We have arrived.

The preceding series of events were a blur to me. I entered the building - a two-floor schoolhouse with a rather small amount of students, and found my classroom. The day was quite uneventful, and so was the day after. I was a quiet and shy student, I didn't speak unless spoken to and didn't have many things to offer. I didn't have any hobbies that I felt comfortable talking about, and I haven't had any interesting family trips to discuss. My life revolved only around my father abusing my mother, and my baby brother, who was cruelly ripped away from me by fate. However, soon, the other children began to bully me. It is a cruel reality that small children behave much like animals, and are not at all innocent as adults perceive them to be. Like animals, children find the weak member of their horde, and hurt him. It's an aspect of natural selection, and was an aspect of my early school life. I was often discriminated against and denied the right to sit at a certain table, or talk to certain people. Sometimes I was punched or had something thrown at me. I soon realized that school was just as miserable of a place as home.


	3. Part 3 - Timothy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case of sexual abuse confessed by Eddie causes a divide in their family.

Once during Christmas, when I was around eight or nine years old, we welcomed a visitor to our home. My uncle, or the bother of my father, decided to greet us and to spend a few nights or so at our house. Our living space was already small and crowded, I couldn't possibly imagine how it would be possible to fit a fourth person into the already highly populated area. My uncle was a strange person - he acted and moved rather strangely. It is difficult to explain, but there was just something about him that made my skin crawl sometimes. It was only for 5 nights anyway, it wouldn't be that bad, I naively thought.

From what I remember, it was the day before Christmas, and our house was experiencing a rare period of calm. The snow had fallen very thickly outside, and the beauty of everything being covered in a thick sheet of sparking white was impossible to express with mere words. My father, surprisingly, had a calm and to an extent loving attitude about him, most likely because he was free from his stressful days at work. He would often put his arm around my mother and tell her that he loved her, which was an extremely rare sight. My father might have been playing the role of a loving husband in order to impress his brother, but I, once again, may be adding onto the memory. It happened such a long time ago, and yet the wounds are fresh on my heart and mind as they have always been. Nevertheless, my uncle's name was Timothy, he was a rather tall and broad man, who seemed to be much older than my father and wore a pair of thick glasses.  
Since the day was anything but lovely, I decided to head out and observe the stream near my house, and perhaps even examine the woods behind it. I wonder where the stray cat that sometimes followed me stayed during the winter. The animal must be so cold with no definite shelter.

Joy filled my heart when I saw that the stream was frozen over. I stepped onto the hard, solid ice and almost slipped, but held my balance. I walked across to eye the small patch of forest just behind it. The trees were engulfed in frost, and some of them had thick icicles hanging from the branches. It was simply beautiful to go out and enjoy the carelessness of infinite white that gave a touch of beauty to everything. I must have spent hours playing Knight with icicles and attempting to build a fort, for it was already dark when I had tired myself out and decided it was time to go home. All my clothing was wet, and I felt hot and uncomfortable under the layers of fabric. I hurried home.

The small house was waning over the hills of white, and I saw smoke coming from the chimney. Something good was probably being cooked in preparation for Christmas morning. I opened the door to be welcomed by silence. I assumed that my parents have probably left in order to go to town and stock up on food and bring something more exquisite to the table since it was an occasion, and we had a guest over. I walked through the illuminated corridor of our house, and have not noticed that my shoe was untied. Being a kid, I was clumsy, so I stepped on my shoelace, and before I understood what happened, there was a loud crash and I was on the floor. I have accidentally swiped my hand and pushed over a small table by the wall, knocking it down along with its contents. "Well well..." I heard a voice hiss, as I realized that my uncle stayed behind. He bent over and picked up an object form the floor - it was his glasses, which he has set on the table prior to my arrival, and one of the lenses were now cracked from the fall. "You're a very naughty boy, Eddie. Wait until your father hears about how you've been treating a guest. He will be so upset, won't he?" There was a notion of singing in the question, a sort of sadistic tone of a predator. I realized that "upset" wasn't nearly the emotion that will engulf my father if he finds out about what I have done. My father won't listen to explanations, and my punishment would indeed be harsh. "Please don't tell him." I whimpered, my eyes becoming hot with tears, "It was an accident, I swear." Timothy paused for a second and then spoke: "Alright, but then you'll have to give me something in return for my silence." What was it that he wanted from me? I didn't have anything that an old man would want anyway. My most prized possession was a bag of marbles I had won at school, and I was more than willing to give it up if it meant evading punishment. "Undress yourself." was the command that followed. I looked at him in question. What a weird request, I thought. Although, there was something that felt wrong about the request, I couldn't quite pin it down, but the thought gave my butterflies in my stomach anyway. "I'm waiting, boy!" startled me, and I began to do as the man asked. I unzipped my jacket, took off my sweater, and stripped myself of all my layers of clothing until only my underwear remained.

It pains me too much to recall the later events, but I can firmly state that they have scarred me beyond any kind of healing. If I knew the sick intent of this man, I'd much rather prefer to be beaten to oblivion by my father.  
Months have passed after the event occurred. I was afraid of entering the hallway, and was surrounded by a dreadful and uneasy feeling. I would tie my laces in double knots to make sure I NEVER fell again. I also began to despise both the snow and the holidays that were associated with it. My parents didn't understand my unease and my change in behavior until I opened up to my mom one day, and told her in tears about what had happened to me whilst she was out purchasing sweets and candles for the family. I told her about how violated I have felt, and how I would have nightmares every other night. I remember crying into her lap as I began to melt my numerous layers of worries and fears. As I began to explain how I felt about Henry, about school and what Timothy did to me. My mother decided that it was time to end our suffering. She left my father and we moved to the city when I was 10.


	4. Part 4 - mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transition between rural and city life. Also transition to single parent family, which entitles more responsibility.

It was difficult to settle in a new place, and our apartment was even shabbier than our rural house. My mother wasn't as meek as she seemed, and I soon found out that she had sufficient funds to help us survive while she looks for work and I settle in school. The preceding 3 years were quite uneventful. My mother was unable to do house work because washing dishes at a restaurant was quite stressful and tedious work, so I filled in. I learned how to cook and how to sow in order to patch up our clothing. It was difficult to live without a father, but I would often find myself happy that we have left that wretched torture house behind us. I also discovered the extent to which I enjoyed sowing, even if it was only with a needle and thread. I would spend most of my free time patching my mother's clothes and touching them up to make them nicer for her. I felt much satisfaction when she wore what I had fixed for her, and ate what I had made for her. It was rather embarrassing but so soothing at the same time to be doing women’s' work.  
I was transferred to high school, which was, again, very uneventful. I was offered work by an acquaintance which I gladly accepted. The practice consisted of hauling crates and sorting the contents for a few hours. It was quite tedious work, but it paid a sufficient amount, and extra support made my mother happy. We didn't speak as often because I rarely had anything to tell her, and even so, I would wake up early and sleep early. She would wake up late and arrive late. We barely saw each other.

"You're such a good son." She would praise, stroking my hair as I prepared some vegetable soup for dinner. It was a Sunday afternoon, one of my only days to rest and enjoy in leisurely activities. "I decided to surprise you, Eddie." The words caught my attention, and I turned my head towards my mother in curiosity, still holding a knife and some parsley in my hands. I put down my utensils and removed my apron. I hated getting my clothing dirty. The apartment was rather small: it consisted of one room, a kitchen and a bathroom. There was no balcony, and it was quite difficult to have any privacy since we slept in the same room. We came home at different times so I didn't really mind. I eyed a decent-sized box on my bed which wasn't there before. "Open it, dear." She said. I approached the box with caution and gently pulled the flaps apart...oh the joy that ran though my veins when I saw the object inside. I had never told anyone about wanting one, but somehow my mother simply picked up on my wishes. I put my hands around it and gently set it on my work table. I now had my own sowing machine. I was wonderfully elegant, black, old fashioned, just the way I dreamed it would be. I almost felt tears running down my eyes. I was the nicest gift, and kindest act anybody has ever shown me.  
I was at a complete loss for words. I wasn't sure how to thank my mother, and she picked up on that. "You're too kind. Thank you mother." was all I was able to utter. My mother rewarded me with a smile and left me alone with my new toy. I wanted to start sowing immediately, but I had to finish the sup first. I threw a cloth over the machine and hurried to throw in the parsley. I already had so much ideas in mind of things I could create. We ate dinner in silence, for I never had much to say, and I was occupied with the thoughts of a new sowing project.

Years of learning, cooking, cleaning, working a labor job had flown by so quickly that I didn't even realize how much I'd grown since the day I first set foot into our run down apartment. Henry's death, my father's harsh abuse and my Uncle's cruelty were engraved into me, but all the way at the back of my mind. I rarely recalled these events now. I had forgotten all about my childhood troubles. One day I walked by the mirror and realized that I was no longer a child. I was eighteen, and I was quite ready to start my own life.  
I was no longer the thin, measly child I once was. Hard work and endurance greatly enhanced my constitution. I was well built and well educated. I had all the necessary life skills to survive and persevere. I always kept a certain manner of attire and preferred to dress formally. My hair was always shaved at the sides and neatly combed back. We weren't a wealthy family, but I decided to attempt college nevertheless. I applied and was almost instantly accepted. "My Eddie is now a college student." Mother would say proudly to me.


	5. Part 5 - Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we are acquainted with a love interest

College fees were difficult to pay, but I knew it would help my future and I would be able to earn more money that way. I dreamed of building my mother a house, and possibly opening up an alteration shop for her to run. It was during my further studies that I met Mary, the woman of my dreams.

She would be in one of my English courses, and her mere appearance simply took my breath away. I would feel as though I lived and breathed for her, as though I could take any amount of pain for her, or to simply put it, I've fallen in love.

There were many girls who have tried to knit a relationship with me, but they either looked slutty, had no manners or wanted me to buy them items of sorts. I didn't want that. I was very family oriented and wasn't one for playing around. I dreamed of marriage, children and a harmonious life. While most men my age fantasized about sex and rather irresponsible scenarios, I fantasized about a faithful, everlasting relationship. I knew instantly Mary was the one. Her voice was beautiful, and so were her gestures, expressions, stature and appearance. She was perfect. She would sometimes sit near me in class, and that would fuel me to write my free writing pieces with much passion. I would imagine gently caressing her hair, possibly moving it back behind her ear, and sometimes smelling it. I knew this was wrong, and I was rather insecure about my sexuality even when I was a young teen, never the less, I felt as though I could get past that barrier if it meant being with Mary.

I got past my fears and decided to make my first move. I approached her after class and decided to start a conversation: "Mary! Uh, I see you've gotten another perfect grade on the essay today. Please, tell me your secret to success." to that she giggled: "It's because I pay attention to structure, um, what's your name?" she asked, and I felt rather shamed that she didn't even know my name. "Eddie," I said, "I sit right beside you." She turned around: "is that so? I've never noticed." I was so nervous, to the point of puking even, it was as if I was playing a game of chess, yet if I were to lose, and I wouldn't be able to get a re-match. "So how about we discuss essay structures over some coffee, ham? I'm really desperate for some help." This was a risky move, and I understood that it was an all or nothing scenario. To my great relief, her answer was affirmative. "Sure, I am free for the day anyway. I have no plans." She said, rather unsuspectingly. I saw my chance, and I took it. There wouldn't be a second chance - I swallowed my anxiety and spoke while I still could: "I know a good coffee shop right by the college - around a 10 minute walking distance. Coffee's on me." I do agree, I thought I sounded a bit enthusiastic, and I was suddenly shackled by the fear that Mary might figure out that it was a poor attempt at a date. However, she seemed oblivious - or maybe she understood and accepted willingly. I was often told by my mother's friends that I was growing up to be a handsome young man, and if I had even the slightest bit of charm in my looks or my behavior, why not use it? 

I smiled warmly and prompted: "Let’s go then." And so I walked, and she followed. I didn't want there to be a tense silence, so I asked her about her classes, about her opinions on our English teacher and other not-so-close questions. She responded, but I wasn't too keen on listening, I was very stressed out about making a good impression, and I was too engulfed in admiring her as she walked beside me.   
She had long, very long hair that would usually be in a bun or in a braid - it was the color of milk chocolate, and as strange as it sounds, I found that it even looked tasty. She was about 170 cm in height, which made her a head shorter than me, and which I found adorable. I'd love to bend over in order to kiss her, if I was ever lucky enough to do so. Although I've never got a good look at her eyes, I knew they were blue, darker than mine, but still dashing and deep. I've heard from an acquaintance, and overheard in her own conversations that she played the violin, she painted and always had perfect grades. She was a Swiss Army knife of amazing, perfect qualities. She was artistic, athletic, intelligent and so deep. My feelings for her were nothing short of poetic - and they were also one of a kind. Never have I felt anything so pure, so beautiful towards another person. 

"Eddie, hey - we're here already." That startled me from my daydream. We were already at the doors, and I would have walked by the cafe if she wouldn't have interrupted me. 

I held the door open for her, and bought coffee for her like a good gentleman, and I think she appreciated my generosity and picked up on my intentions.   
We sat down at an empty table by the corner of the store, and she began to explain essays to me - she intelligently took the structure of the essay apart, explaining theses, concluding sentences and 5 paragraph structures to me. I was astounded. I asked questions very enthusiastically, but our tutoring session deviated from learning pretty soon. She asked me about my family, and I told her I had no siblings and lived with my mother. I told her that I'd love to move out, but was dedicated to supporting my mother and filling in for her when she was too tired from working two jobs. I received a recognition of my sensuality in return, and I realized that I told a sob story without intending it. We changed our conversation to hobbies, and I told her that I like to sow clothing and sometimes draw, even though I was never good at it. 

Before I knew it, it was dark out and I had to go home. We parted and I left the scene with a haply, light mood. I have succeeded. I smiled all the way back home, and whistled one of my favorite songs while I walked through the dark, barely illuminated streets. I whistled an old 1911 song that I once heard on my father's radio. It made me feel so light, so delighted, and so lucky. I was truly in love.   
A thought suddenly hit me - poor Mary probably walked home just like I did, and September would be over soon, which meant nights would be dark. I would have to accompany her and possibly deliver her to her house safely. I was so afraid someone would harm her - she seemed so defenseless to me. Such a sweet, frail creature. 

When I arrived home, the lights were off, and I could hear the shuffling of bed sheets and quiet rhythmic breathing. Mother was asleep. I sneaked into the kitchen and found a note there. Mother wrote asking that I would eat the mashed potatoes in the fridge for dinner and sleep early. I obeyed. 

After having eaten the cold supper without warming it, I did my usual routine with washing myself and changing to my sleeping attire. I crawled into bed but couldn't sleep. I was too excited for our encounter tomorrow, and my thoughts were racing faster than men running from a lion. Suddenly, and idea hit me: the image of a beautiful, light summer dress appeared in front of me. I immediately threw aside my blanket, pulled a pen and paper to my work table, switched on a lamp and began to draw out a plan. The dress would be perfect on Mary's soft, delicate body. I planned to make the dress white, creamy and elegant. One that would end in little ruffles at her knees and hold on little straps at her shoulders. I planned to embroider a rose onto the side of it - a daring yellow rose for my darling. 

I was captivated with my work when I felt a hand touch me. It was Mary - she was wearing the white dress, exactly as I have imagine her to wear it. She laughed playfully, let go of my hand and began to prance away from me. "Where are you going, dear?" I asked as she giggled and hid behind a table. Was she playing hide and seek with me? Oh how cute she was when she acted this childishly. She quickly darted away from my outstretched hands: "you can't catch me!" She taunted as she ran down the hallway and disappeared behind a corner. I followed, and eyed the room he had entered. I heard her breathing beside me, and realized she had hidden herself in a locker. I chuckled at that and decided to play along. "Where oh where is my darling?" I sang, as I walked about the room. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my chest, I felt as though I was being impaled! I squirmed and shut my eyes. I didn't want to die. 

I awoke in a cold sweat, the light of the first rays of sun fell through the window onto my clothing plans. I had fallen asleep at my table. Mother was still peacefully sleeping, and I glanced at the small, mechanical clock on my table. It was 5 am, two hours before I'd have to go to work, and 6 hours before I'd have to be at college. It was so lucky that classes started so late and therefore, I could still make it to work. 

I stood up and stretched my aching back. I fixed some breakfast for myself and my mother, leaving her a loving note on the table to check the fridge for some omelette. I then clothed myself, packed my messenger bag, and was on my merry way. For the first time in my life I felt as though I was a normal person, I felt happy. I felt peaceful and free. "When I was a boy my mother often sang to me..." I began to sing as I marched through the streets with no people. "...get married boy and see how happy you will be." Those words were not just from a cheesy barber shop quartet song, but from the pure heart in love.


	6. Part 6 - Bicycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How else to impress a lady than the ability to transport her home?

My fondness for Mary grew by the day, and so did hers for me. Today was the 3rd of October, the second day of getting used to riding around on a bicycle and my boldest ever attempt to be a generous escort for Mary.  
It was a long and difficult decision on which bicycle to choose, and my selection ridded me of any funds I had saved up. I picked a good, sturdy model, made in the USSR, nice brass finish and some room in the back. I managed to find a bike with two beams protruding from the center of the back wheel - Mary would be able to put her feet there. 

I met up with her after English class and we, once again, walked to the coffee shop and discussed the novel we were assigned to analyze. It was difficult work for me, and Mary's explaining of the twisted, ambiguous themes really helped me understand. We talked until 7 as usual, and as we exited the cafe, I decided to make my move. 

"Mary" I said to her in an affirmative tone: «it has gotten dark outside, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to escort you, just for safety's sake." She paused, and I was afraid she might not accept my offer. She, to my great relief, said yes. To those words, I unchained my bicycle, and ordered her to sit at the back. The bicycle was cleverly designed for more than one passenger, and I was going to take advantage of that. 

I sat down, and asked to lead the way. I gently kicked my feet and began to turn the pedals. It must have been difficult to carry the weight of another passenger, but I felt no burden. She was a light, gentle girl indeed. A shiver ran up my spine as Mary wrapped her arms around my waist for support. I pedaled, and carefully followed her directions. Most of our journey was silent, I tried to savor the moment, to engrave the memory of her having her arms around me in my mind. 

She lived in a calm neighborhood, in a rather big house. I saw an automobile parked in the driveway of her home, and assumed her family was wealthy. It made me feel ashamed. I feigned and let her off the bicycle. "Thanks, Eddie." She said, and such words combined with her intonation made me tingle slightly. She then approached and hugged me. The joy overwhelmed me to the point that I didn't know how to react. My heart pounded faster than a wounded man would on the door of a hospital house. My heart felt as though it was about to rip itself out of my chest and flop into the concrete. I also wrapped my arms around her reassuringly and tightly. I made sure she could feel my shifting biceps against her shoulders, to show her how strong I was. I would often dress more formally than my peers, just because I enjoyed looking presentable. Today I was equipped with black trousers, an egg shell color shirt, the sleeves of which I rolled up just pas my elbows and black suspenders. Sometimes I was told that if I flexed, my festive shirt would rip to shreds by my acquaintances.

She most likely heard the pace of my heart and understood once again what was going on with me. She let go and stepped back. My heart lamented at being deprived of her warmth. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Mary..." I said "I still have to get home and check on my mother. She's been working hard lately." To that Mary smiled, she must have thought I was a caring, kind hearted man. She turned around and began to make her way to the door of her house. I admired the way she walked: it was graceful, smooth and oh so delicate. 

I wonder why her dad didn't pick her up from the cafe if he had an automobile at his disposal.


	7. Part 7 - Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small apartment is left to one person instead of two

One day when I returned home in the late evening to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table, as if she was expecting me. "Sit down, Edward, we must talk." I heard worry in her voice. I also felt fear as a young boy would when he knew he's done something awful and his parents are now confronting him about it. Would it be about Mary? Would it be about my absence at home? Mother spoke: "I've been hiding something from you for a long time now, son, and I apologize for being secretive. You see, your father wrote to me." The last statement of hers made my stomach knot - I haven't thought about my father in ages. He was a ghost of the past to me. "Your father had changed since I left him. He wrote me 7 pages of words, pleading me to come back, and begging for another chance. Your father has been lonely and I have as well. I trust that his experiences have made him understand and change his ways. I've decided to move back in with him. You are a grown man now, and I don't want to hinder your life any further." I was at a loss for words once more. I have never expected my life to change so drastically. I simply nodded and told my mother that whatever is best for her is also best for me. My mother said that father will come to take her back to our little house in the countryside during the weekend. And surely, that crisp Saturday morning arrived sooner than expected. I remember a car entering the courtyard of our building and stopping by the entrance. I stood on the doorstep with my mother, having my arm around her shoulder protectively. A man got out of the car, with grey hair and a rather miserable expression on his face. The nine years that we have been away have really taken a toll on my father. His eyes have dimmed, his face has wrinkled slightly, and he has lost weight. I could see why he chose to lament to my mother and ask her for forgiveness. 

I walked up to him and firmly shook his hand. I was quite surprised that my father had not recognized me until my mother told my father that the man who was holding her was not a new love interest but was in fact the child that my father once struck so harshly.   
My father apologized and I kept my conversation with him brief and to the point. "If you so much as dare lay a hand on my mother, I will find you, and you will pay. This time I will intervene and if I do, you will be sorry." After a pause I added:" I hope you are making the right decision, mom. I'll definitely miss you." And I let her enter the car, close the door and watched the vehicle gently slide away into the distance. I was left the apartment and all it's contents - I was left to live alone.   
I remember taking apart my poorly structured bed that very day and stuffing it under my mothers bigger more comfortable bed. I decided to take up her spot by the wall. The room seemed so empty now that nobody lived there except for me. There was a bed, a nightstand with a few books, my work table with my sowing machine and a box with some bolts of cloth. I speculated on buying a mannequin which would wear my works. I also had pinned a few of my most extravagant designs to the walls as well as a pencil sketch of Mary that I put together in class one day. Looking at her image inspired me to work and study harder. 

I lay in my mother’s bed for hours, jut staring at the ceiling and reflecting on life. Before I knew it, I was wiping my tears against my pillow sobbing loudly.


	8. Part 8 - Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary receives a gift...more than just a gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is sex in this chapter

I had brought more than just a messenger bag with me, but another bag as well. It was a fashionable paper bag containing an elaborately wrapped gift. I set it down beside me when I sat at the coffee shop table across from Mary. "My good friend, you may not have known this, but I would like to say thank you for spending so much of your time with me." I said formally. It was a cool December evening, which was the worst time of the year to give such a present to a girl, but I simply couldn't resist: "you see, today is a special day: it is your birthday, Mary. And I have decided to show my appreciation for you." I reached for the bag by my side, and having found it, lifted and set it on the table. "Happy birthday." I said dryly, and pushed the gift towards her. She gently lifted the bag, and began to examine its contents. "I made it myself, including the flower." I said proudly. She unwrapped the gift and covered we face as she saw what it had contained. It was a beautiful white summer dress with a rose on the side, just the perfect gift for a perfect girl. She covered her face with her hands, I could see that she loved it. "Eddie..." She said as she sobbed through her little, delicate palms: "I love it..." I smile warmly and I could feel her relax as I put my arm around her shoulder. "I made it just for you. I know it's a horrible time of the year, but you deserve a reward for all your hard..." She already had her arms around me again. I could feel her face buried in my chest and her little, fragile sobs. I patted her back with caution and comforted her. I said it was no big deal really. 

"Eddie..." She finally said: "The coffee shop will close soon, but we didn't get any work done..." I understood that as an invitation, an opportunity, and I took the chance: "my mother doesn't live with me anymore, we can always continue our discussion at my place." She accepted and I was relieved. I sat her down at the back of my bicycle, and we rode in the opposite direction, the one towards my building. When we arrived, I chained my bicycle, opened the door for her and she followed me to my apartment. I opened the door and turned on the light. My apartment was clean, and I took good care of it. 

I invited Mary to the kitchen, and began to set some tea. "Would you like something sweet? A wafer perhaps?" I brought out a bowl of home made wafers and placed them in the middle of the table. "I made them myself." I said proudly. I knew we wouldn't get any work done anyway. I prepared some tea and served it to Mary. She seemed curious about my apartment, and was eyeing every object with interest. "So you live on your own now?" She broke the silence with a question. "Yes," I replied: "mother decided to return to father, and I have this place to my disposal. You see, my father abused by mother ever since I was a child, and she finally decided to take a stand and move away when I was around 10. Recently, they got back together again." Mary seemed captivated by my shortened story. I poured her some black tea. I asked about her family, and she told me about her mom and dad: her mom was a dentist and her dad was a businessman. Mary also said she had an older sister who was married and had moved out.   
Mary poured herself more tea, and reached over to pour some for me, but her hand slipped, and the hot liquid landed on my knee and thigh. I hissed in pain. Mary apologized and quickly grabbed a kitchen towel by the sink in order to rub the wet stain on my trousers. The motion of her rubbing my thigh prompted me into making another bold attempt. I lowered my arm, and placed my hand on hers. She froze for a moment and then looked up - her face was on par with mine, and the timing was perfect. Before anything else could happen, my lips were pressed to hers, and my free hand was supporting her head. I adored the smooth feel of her chocolate hair on my palm. She didn't resist: she knew it was coming, and she enjoyed it as much as I did.

She moved herself onto my lap, and I continued to caress her gently with my lips. She must have felt the prick against her underside, for she slid off, and took a moment to catch her breath. She opened her mouth to say something, but gently put my fingers to her lips and said "shhhhh..." In the softest way possible. "I love you, my dear girl." I whispered to her: "you are my life, you are everything to me. Mary, I've never even set eyes on any girl other than you. I've never kissed anyone before either, and never felt the rich, ecstatic feeling that I do for you. Please, please be with me. I need you, darling, I live for you and I love you." I looked to her with the most genuine expression of love that I could possibly generate. She was completely speechless. She had not expected this and honestly, neither have I. Mary's eyes became wet just as they have when she unwrapped her present just a few hours ago. "Oh Eddie!" She exclaimed, and pulled me towards her. Our lips locked once again. "Try the dress on for me..." I whispered to her with my eyes closed. 

I sat on my bed and waited patiently as Mary floated into the door, the room being illuminated with only my table lamp. The dress fit her perfectly, and did justice for her lovely waist and breasts. They were small and elegant, but I felt as though the dress brought them out in her, and accentuated them as beautiful traits. 

I couldn't hold back any longer, I could feel my swollen erection pressing against the confined space of my trousers, Mary most likely noticed the outline of a big bulge in my lap as well. She bent down to kiss me, and I felt her little soft hand gently stroke my solidified genitals. I let out a deep breath: «Mary, are you sure? This is all so new to me. I've... Never had anyone teat me like this, not even myself." That was a lie, my uncle also "treated" me like this, but I pushed that thought away as fast as possible. "Eddie..." She sang lovingly. 

She unbuttoned my trousers and freed what was imprisoned there. "So big..." She said, under her breath. Her comment was followed by a stroke of her warm palm against my erection. I let out a deep moan. It felt so so good to the point of no return. She began to rub harder, and the sensation was so relaxing, so de-stressing that I felt as though I was releasing years of tension in just one action. I looked down at Mary: I could see down her dress. I caught a glimpse of her light pink bra before I felt a tension go through my body as an electric shock. I tensed and then released. Mary's hand was completely covered in my seed, and I felt a sudden drop of pressure in my body. Other than the occasional wet dream, I've never ejaculated willingly before. I repressed any desire to do so anyway.  
I quickly collected myself and wiped the viscous liquid off Mary's hand with a towel. «I’m so sorry...I don't know why I let myself go like that..." I said with shame, pushing my half flaccid shlang back into the confinement of my trousers. "Please forgive me." To that Mary blinked with question: "There's nothing to apologize for. Eddie, do you mind if I stay the night?" The question raised some excitement in my gut. "Of course you can, darling." I smiled with joy. I found the notion of Mary transferring from being a study friend to a loving girlfriend rather quick and almost shocking. I have never imagined that something so heavenly would finally happen to me. My life was only getting better - my job raised my pay, my grades were improving, and now my one and only true love was by my side, welcomingly receiving me and my seed. 

My night with her was wonderful. What I was experiencing was heaven: the angelic sensation of my beautiful girl laying on her back, letting me take her, letting me insert myself into her so deep that I would feel her womb and hold her close when she got tender, allowing me to hold her soft breasts in my palms, allowing me to invade her with love and gentleness. I reached my peak the second time in one night and released my tension into her. It felt warm and comfortable, she said. I remember seeing the vanes on my arms bulging, I had never felt so good in my life.

She fell by my side, tired, panting and sweating. I pressed her to my bare chest, and I could still see her blushing face close to me, her ear listening intensively to my heart. I told her that she was safe with me, and that I wouldn't abandon her like the frivolous men of our generation typically would. I told her I would always be by her side and I would always protect her. She was a perfect girl - she was MY perfect girl.   
My gaze was fixed on the ceiling even after my tired out beloved had fallen into an innocent sleep. If I would have ever died, this would be all the heaven I'd ask god for, not clouds for a house nor resistance to pain, but the simple warmth and presence of an angel by my side, my knowledge of the fact that she was mine and I was hers. 

I made a commitment that night, or perhaps I'd already made it when I first set eyes on my girl. I promise myself that I'd live for her, and I would stop at nothing to make her life beautifully delightful. She was my medicine for all my emotional scars, for all the times I've been wronged, tortured, abused. In her, I forgot that there was trouble in this world, and even the definition of that notion.   
We were gently placed to rest, and thus I indulged in a heavenly slumber. 

I awoke early out of habit. My beautiful angel was still by my side, resting peacefully. I melted in the moment, enjoying her quiet shallow breaths. She reminded me for a small animal - so fragile, so defenseless. I noticed her breasts poking out from under the blanket - the nipples were soft pink. Such a thought caused a jolt of warmth to run up my spine: I wanted her badly. I suppressed my excitement and carefully slipped out if bed as to not disturb my slumbering little butterfly. Perhaps one day those will make two beautiful gourds for the feeding of children, I thought. She would look as honorable and respectable as a mother, as an educator, nurturer and teacher of life lessons for a batch of children just as perfect as herself.   
I crept into the kitchen and began to warm up the oven. What more would impress a girl than a batch of cookies and freshly ground coffee? I got right to the job. It was a Saturday morning - I didn't have work nor lessons. The first snow had fallen outside and I melded with the moment as I stirred the dough in a bowl. Everything was already on the table and my darling still hasn't woken up yet. I trotted into the bathroom and equipped myself with the bath robe - my girl was sleeping bare.   
I admired her innocent, perfect face for a moment before tenderly pushing her shoulder and asking her to wake up. She moaned, and I found that unbelievably adorable in all aspects. "I've made breakfast for you, dear." I smiled. To that she mumbled something and turned away. She must have been so tired. I decided to give her another thirty minutes and retired to the other side of my room, turning on the radio and playing with the stations until I found something suitable for her to wake up to. I then sat down behind my sowing machine and got to work. 

I was startled as two miniature hands lowered themselves on my shoulders. I turned around and smiled to Mary. Her long hair was messy and I loved it. I stood up and prompted her to go and have breakfast. She was amazed at the cookies and the coffee I've prepare for her. "Aren't your parents worried?" I suddenly asked. She raised her head in concern: "they're out of town for the week." She exclaimed, "They will be back on Wednesday. I couldn't stand sleeping at home alone - a big house is scary for me." I grinned innocently: "I don't mind keeping you company, dear." How about you finish up and we take a walk? It's ridiculous to waste such a perfect snowy day sitting around in a crammed apartment.


	9. Part 9 - John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings and family dinners - very short chapter

I've been seeing Mary for a good deal of the year now, and she has decided to introduce me to her parents. It was a rather damp Sunday evening when I walked to our coffee shop and met Mary and her father there. Her dad was a rather average heighted man, most likely having just come back from church, for he was clad in formal attire. He had lighter hair than Mary, and had smaller green eyes which contrasted his protruding thin nose. 

"So you're the gentleman I've been hearing so much about, huh?" Said her father, quite sure of himself. He stretched out his hand to me and affirmed: "It is a pleasure to meet you, my name is John Lynn." I shook his hand with no hesitation: "Gluskin, Eddie Gluskin. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir." John gave us a ride in his automobile to his home, where his wife had already prepared dinner. The meal consisted of potato salad, meat loaf and I believe some kind of fish platter. I've introduced myself to Mary's mother and had a good, mannered dinner with the family. I told them everything about myself: my job, my education, the fact that I was living alone and my life plans. I told then about my relationship with Mary, and how it blossomed into something much more than just a friendship.

Her parents saw me as a handsome young man, a responsible and caring friend and most likely a respectable future mate. I was overjoyed to hear that they were happy with me. To that, Mary showed off the dress I have sown for her, and she was pretty much mine. Or so I thought. There were some difficulties that arose. Her parents were wealthy, and I was not. I had to show them that I also had a substantial amount of funds. After dinner, I realized I'd have to walk all the way home because I didn't take my bike. Mary walked me to the end of the block, and before parting, I kissed her. I promised that I'd show her parents that I was capable of earning good pay. I already had a plan.


	10. Part 10 - Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marriage proposal followed by another sex scene - also a short chapter

During the next few months I finished college and applied for a higher standing due to my qualification. I passed and was no longer required to work hard with my body. I was accepted as a co-manager for a factory and I was overjoyed. At this time, I was still seeing Mary and she had been admitted into med school. She studied hard and I worked hard. I decided that it was time to show her I was serious about us. I decided to ask her to marry. 

It took me months of work and a diet of cheap foods to finally afford the diamond ring I had picked out for my lovely darling. I cut off all expenses related to clothes and luxury and finally achieved my goal. The ring was expensive, extremely expensive.   
I picked out a good, sunny day to invite Mary to the seaside with me. I could see her gentle body accentuating itself in the dress I've sown for her, she was like a beautiful white mirage - so rare, so unbelievably perfect. She carried a sun umbrella that I've purchased for her, after all, I enjoyed a wholesome, pale girl. As we approached our favorite dock, one that we'd sometimes visit and look onto the vastness of the ocean from, I began to speak to her seriously: "Mary," I stated firmly: "I've been seeing you for a little over two years now, and I believe that it would be disrespectful of me not to ask this great favor of you. If I wouldn't have, you may have thought I was irresponsible and not serious." We approached the end of the dock and I sang my favorite song to her, bent down on one knee and held out an open box with the diamond ring just like a respectable gentleman should. "Will you tread with me through the journey of life, my darling? Will you marry me?" 

To that she cried. I stood up, lifted her hand, and slid the ring onto her finger. It fit as though it was crafted for her delicate hand. She admired it and so did I. "Oh Eddie, of course I will." She meekly replied. Her response was expected but it was astonishing anyway. I brought her home with me on that night, just like countless other nights, and made it special for her. 

She wore beautiful lingerie, consisting of a red bra, panties, thigh highs and a garter belt. I admired her choice of underwear so much. We were comfortable with each other now. She would kneel down and encircle my erect penis, bringing it to her mouth and caressing it with her lips and tongue. I would melt with the pleasure and allow her to have her way with me. I would then sit her down on my bed and unwrap her as I would a gift. I would savor her.   
We had many close moments like this together. My life was perfect with her by my side


	11. Chapter 11 - Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayal and lead-up to insanity

I am quite ashamed at the fact that I've called sick that day and decided to skip work. Mary had passed into internship, and I found it as a case for celebration. Today would be her first day working in the hospital: she told me so herself.   
If I haven't told you yet, I bought a car that year. It was a miserable little thing, but it got around nicely, and that's was all that concerned me. 

I took my car to the hospital, I bought a bouquet of fresh roses on the way and I couldn't stop myself from singing. Everything was going so smoothly, that my heart just couldn't resist responding. I was happy in all aspects.   
I pulled up my car to the grandiose white building with a Red Cross and a sign indicating that it is a hospital. I watched in and asked the counter where Mary Lynn would be working. The lady working there seemed confused and after asking around told me that she would probably be in the "L" wing of the hospital. I took a look at a map on the wall: the hospital had five wings: the pediatric wing (or J wing), the surgical wing (or K wing), the rehabilitation wing complete with a training center (L wing). That was where I was supposed to go, and the rest of the wings did not concern me in the least. I quickly made my way to that area of the hospital. Some nurses passed me, and I eyed them with curiosity. My girl wouldn't be a nurse, she'd be a surgeon. Together, we would make a lot of money and support our future children.   
I'd discussed the matter of children with Mary before, and she sounded more than enthusiastic to talk about it. She said she wanted to stop at five, I said I wanted to stop at ten. I honestly wanted as much children as the heavens could grant me. I would work hard for them and look after them well. I would buy a house and we would live there happily and carelessly. I wanted to name my first child Francis. I don't know why the name resonated in my head this protruding, but I do believe I had a schoolmate with that name. 

I arrived at the mouth of the L wing, and kindly asked a nurse for directions to the training center. I went there immediately to see that there was indeed a group of young interns listening to the explanation of an older more experienced doctor, but Mary was not among them. I scratched at my head and wondered where she could be. 

I chipped off one of the members of the learning group - a girl of about 21 - and asked her whether she had seen Mary. The girl replied that she saw a doctor come to have a word with Mary and then left with her possibly to his office. The girl pointed out that the offices are on the upper floor of the L wing. 

I quickly followed the directions and traveled to the upper floor. It was much less busy and very quiet there. I looked into the little window on every door in hope of spotting my beloved and almost lost hope until I noticed her in one of the offices. I wish I hadn't seen, I wish I'd walked by and eyed the other rooms instead. 

I saw her talking to a medic, possibly in his early thirties or late twenties. Her gestures and movements showed that she knew this guy. I couldn't hear much of what they were saying: the pose in which Mary sat worried me. She was poised on the side of his desk as if expecting something from him. The doctor stood across from her and said something laughingly. I then noticed that Mary did not have her diamond ring. I felt a gust of anguish run through my body. Why had she taken it off? For what purpose?   
Mary then stood up, and her lips met his. I felt as though I was flushed back to the day Henry died when I was 5. My mind could not register nor process that event by the life of me. I saw his hand also play with her hair as I loved to do. He then slid his big palm down to touch Mary's underside, and she let him.

The bouquet fell on the ground with a rustle. I stepped on it with my dirty heel and let it lay there. I left swiftly, for I was afraid someone would notice the buildup of agonizing tears in my eyes. I came home and lay on my bed for what felt like hours. I was suddenly surrounded by all my fears - my father abusing my mother, my extreme loneliness and my loss of innocence thanks to my uncle. Those events circled me like a vortex, they swallowed me up. 

"How could she have done this to me?" I squeezed this thought out of the swamp of millions of hatreds my mind has become, "how could she have betrayed me after all I have sacrificed for her? Why? Why was my only hope, my only pleasure in life taken from me, ripped away and ravished until only shreds remained?" I covered my face with my palms as I wept, and almost drooled from the way my lip deformed itself from my crying.


	12. Part 12 - Prostitute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How else do you claim a whore?

Something drove me to march into my kitchen and take up my knife. I put the cold steel to my wrist and kept it there for a while I wanted blood, I wanted it to leak down my arms badly, so badly to the point that I was about to move the blade across my vane and end it. That couldn't be though, whether it was suicide or crime, I was already damned, yet I couldn't just end it like this. I then rubbed the edge of the blade against my cheek - it felt like a welcoming kiss from my beloved. She was mine, only mine and she lived for me as I did for her. If it was not for me, then she did not live and would not live. Neither would I. If I were to leave this world, so would she.

I exited my nest which once provided me but comfort and sanctuary to be greeted by the cool, dark night. It was a moonless night, a cruel night. I started up my car and rode downtown, to the place where lonely men often came to find appeasement from a hired lover. I found the dirty, sketchy prostitute street and stopped there, motor running. Soon enough, one of those ugly creatures crawled up to me. She was a natural born whore: fishnet leggings with holes, wrinkled face and missing teeth. She was a perfect candidate and a good practice dummy for what I had in mind. "Hey, you lookin' for some action?" The slut said in the most raspy, smoky voice, as if she was already choking on some disgusting man's gentians. I waved a pair of hundred dollar bills at her from the open car window and invited her to enter my car. The creature pulled the door open and sat her large behind on the cushioned leather seat. It disgusted me to oblivion how could people willingly invite these blights on the world of man willingly, and even pay them? If any human was worthy of symbolizing all the trash, all the pollution of society, this thing was worthy, this foul, grotesque excuse for a woman was more than worthy.

I stretched my hand as to give her the money, but then let go of the bills and gripped her throat with my massive hand. The two worthless pieces of paper floated down onto the bottom of the car to be forgotten. My veins were pulsating, the adrenaline was surging through my body as an injected drug would, I was shaking with excitement. She coughed and attempted to scream, the act was so damn pitiful, I almost felt sorry, almost. She grabbed me with her dark, dirtied hands and began to claw at them in a desperate request for release. This was it - I couldn't hold back anymore - I couldn't wait anymore. I pulled out my concealed knife and severed her jugular in a split second. Blood gushed from the slit in her neck and leaked down her exposed cleavage, her collar bones and any other areas that exposed her dirty skin. 

She gargled and attempted to wave her hands as her warm liquid covered my hand and it felt good. This was all I wanted and all I needed. I knew what it was like to kill a whore now. It felt good. 

I can understand now why various nations brainwashed people into systematic violence, telling them that such acts were a clean up of trash, a purification of society. I understood because I felt what a soldier would feel, standing above his victim, crushing his life with the sole of a dirty boot, sucking in the sadistic, most satisfactory pleasure and getting justification by the state all at once. I could repeat this process again and again with the same, renewed hunger and never cease to crave such heavenly yet satanic pleasure all at once. What bliss, what righteousness...  
I drove with the body in the passenger's seat for a while and finally stopped by a muddy ditch to throw the trash of society into. I rubbed my bloodied knife against the side of my cheek, and it left a streak, that was my battle mark, the mark of prey on the predator. I wanted to fix this whore, I wanted to redeem her. I withdrew my knife and spent my time pleasuring myself, cutting into her vulgar bits, ripping off chunks of her demented face and body. The nose gave way easily, and the ears only needed a little tugging to be peeled off from the intellectually empty head. Her flesh was so squishy, so willing, as if begging me to cut it off and free it from the dirty body to which it clung. I finished when there were but holes that marked a nose, ears and mouth on what you could barely call a face even before it became someone's plaything; the creature looked better this way, it looked like that which it truly represented. I then lifted her out of the car and tossed her casually as one would a piece of discarded paper.   
The rather thick mass of rejected flesh lay there motionlessly, as if melding it's dirty skin with the dirt of the earth.  
I returned to my car and shook. I let out a crazed laugh. Boy, was I ready to kill the real whore now. I pressed the pedal and my vehicle took me to Mary's house. I knew where she lived and the approximate plan of her inner house. Her room was on the first floor.

I was accurately planning every step, every movement of mine, yet my car was going quite slowly because I needed time to think, to speculate, to ponder. That is when something caught the corner of my eye, a moving shadow under the street lights, a small, frail figure. I zoomed in on the figure to identify that it was a thin lady with blonde hair. It was dark out, about 11 pm, and she was hurriedly moving towards the train station just down the street. I accelerated and passed her, catching a glimpse of her little, scared face as I drove by and parked just out of sight behind the train station. I turned off the engine and exited, stepping on the stair of the entrance to the underground passage. The barely lit street was completely deserted, with few lights in the windows surrounding it and completely no life whatsoever other than the shadow of the frail figure that was quickly approaching. I concealed myself by the entrance of the metro, just enough to hide my blood - streaked face and arms. The clanks of heels on the concrete got louder, time stopped, everything stopped...

I pounced on her.

She was on the ground under me, fighting me, cursing at me, pleading for dear life, breathing in every last bit. Such a thought that I was this dominant over a girl, that she was pretty much my property excited me. I sat on her chest and had my knife to her throat - she didn't scream anymore, she knew I would rid her of that privilege if she chose to abuse it. I felt my trousers being rather restrictive to my genitals that were now throbbing with excitement. Sexual and murderous pleasure married within me, they combined in union, turned into one undisputed idea, one desire. I admired her face, her innocent, scared expression. I loved having someone below me like that, having someone look up and plead for mercy. I stood her up and held her by the throat - we floated gently to my car, behind the station where nobody could see. I couldn't take it anymore, I had to release, I needed it so badly.

With the knife pressed to her throat, the girl was forced on her knees. I grabbed her hand and pressed it to my erection - she didn't make a sound but most likely she was terrified. "Unzip it" I commanded, but she was a little hesitant, so I pressed the knife to her throat tighter, enough to make a crease in her thin white skin. She shuddered and looked away as her hands slowly worked at the buttons and then the zipper. My erection almost sprung out - she knew what was expected of her so she leaned closer and began to shakingly lick me, sliding her tongue against my sensitive skin so gently. It made me pulsate, made me throb with pleasure as I realized tears were pouring out of the poor girl's eyes. I grabbed the back of her head and passed my knife against her throat in one short moment. I then tilted her head back and inserted my penis into her open throat hole. It was so smooth, so slick, so wet. Her body went limp so I held her up by the shoulders, tugging her little business suit, and kept pressing into her. Just before release I withdrew and pumped my erection with a blood coated hand - white mixed with red in my palm, and I wiped the pink substance on the side of my already dirty pants. I let the corpse fall quietly on its side, and stood there, watching as blood gushed out of the open neck hole of the poor girl. 

I trampled her with the sole of my shoe, which became stained with blood at a moment's notice and re-entered my vehicle. I let out a drawn, heavy sight and looked out my l  
window. The night was heavy, agonizingly cold to the point that chills crawled down your back like ants if you were not to wear a coat, and so damn silent. I was in a frenzy, in a sexual, lustful, necrophilic frenzy. I slid out my tongue and licked the side of my still moist blade...fuck, the mixture of iron, crimson and fear was delicious, so heavenly exquisite. I dragged my tongue over the metal again, and again sucking up the delight, savoring each and every little cell until the surface was clean. That's when I glimpsed down a the corpse by my feet and my entire body throbbed with ecstasy at the thought of what I was going to do next. I got back out of the car.   
Getting down on my knees, I pulled her little lady's dress shirt up and caked my weapon into her abdomen - it left a long slit and even drew some blood. I bent down and stuck my tongue inside the wound like the dirty animal that I was. The warm sensation of life fluid on my tongue was excruciatingly overwhelming.  
So intoxicating, so favorable...

I was running out of time...

I drove quickly to my final destination. 

I needed more, I wanted it, I craved it. I hungered my fix so so badly to the point of no return, not that I had one in the first place, that is.

I estimated by the cement color of the sky that it was around 4 am when I approached Mary's neighborhood. I parked behind her house and crept into the back yard, under her window, where my little angel slept. I caught a glimpse of her sleeping when I looked in, how peaceful she was how innocent was the shroud covering the succubus...she looked just like the angel I mistook her for. I lurked by her window and felt as though I was a drug addict, waiting, shaking enthusiastically for my next dose, for my much needed fix. A glimpse down at my hand, drenched in blood made me tingle, made me berserk.

I gently slid my knife under her window and unlocked it with a click. To that she stirred but did not awaken from her realm of dreams. I descended into her room, creeping like a cat through her sanctuary, I was allowed to because she was mine. For a second I admired her. A distant play of Shakespeare suddenly popped into my mind. I almost felt like saying "t'is the cause..." Just to add an element of poetry to this rare moment. 

My hand was still bloodied as I gently touched her face. It was so warm, so unbelievably tender. I then slid my knife under her left ear. A silent pool of red formed on her fluffy white pillow, cleansing her bedding. Her angelic face showed no signs of pain, no signs of fear. There was no doubt that the other man was here at some point in our relationship, perverting the white sheets. I wish I could say that it all happened so quickly like it does in books, but watching the life leave her took almost forever. I felt as though I could relive my childhood two times and my adulthood three times in the small period of seconds, the hallucinogenic window of time that I felt was within my grasp. 

I scooped her up and carried her to my car. She must have left a trail of red behind her, but I was not bothered by such an unimportant matter. I placed her in an already crimson passenger seat and rode home. I talked to her and I apologized. I almost felt like Karl Tanzler - the famous radiologist who could not accord himself with the loss of his only true love and decided to keep her at his side even after death. He would replace every rotting part of her corpse with an artificial one and his advanced surgery techniques won him a life sized doll. I wasn't as experienced to so something of that magnitude. 

I decided to lay with her one more time before the imminent hour arrived. And so I did. I dragged her out of the car and carried her upstairs to my apartment. I gently placed her on my bed and lay down beside her. I pressed her to myself and closed my eyes. She still felt warm and oh so inviting. It was as though I was back in time, on our first night when she fell asleep in my arms after I had made sweet, passionate love to her. Oh, the cruel, tainted fate that this was. I wish this moment lasted forever. She wouldn't leave me now, she wouldn't leave me in a century because I had her, I claimed her ultimately and now nobody else could have my beloved. Better death than being with another man...death is always better than being a whore. 

I was awakened by a knock on my door which I expected and accorded myself with a long time ago. I barely opened my swollen eyes, and rolled them with an annoyed yawn. There was still blood on my face from the first whore I slaughtered, and I did not bother rubbing at it or hiding it. My hands and arms were also covered with thick, cracked red that I believe might have had chunks of flesh in it still, but nothing in that sense bothered me anymore and it wouldn't in a million years. 

I've already made amends with my future. I would not be able to have children nor marry a whore and if I could not marry, I wouldn't be able to fulfill my purpose as a man. I asked myself why my life has played out this way, and if I deserved such an end for myself. I wonder what it was that I've done wrong in life to deserve such a heartbreak, such a punishment.


	13. Part 13 - Amver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The joys of being treated in an actual facility for the mentally ill

I was questioned after a tedious wait at the police station and I was finally questioned, to which I made up a bunch of bullshit, saying that I was visited by a demon that said he will take my life if I do not kill those two women. Telling them about Mary, about how she was a whore, and about how I decided to take out my wrath on a prostitute for sheer pleasure were not something I was going to discuss. The woman who questioned me seemed to feel sympathy, she was kind and understanding, and she could probably tell I was pulling things out of my ass, but I wasn’t planning on spilling my guts. She wrote down some notes and showed me some photos and asked me to tell her about the people in them. I did so and I was soon released from questioning. My trial would take place in three months. I would spend my time in prison until then.   
I firmly decided to stick to my demons and hallucinations story. Let them think I'm crazy, let them think I have schizophrenia which provokes psychotic episodes and violence in me. I don't want anybody finding out what Mary did to me - to us, and despising her for it. Better me than her.  
Three months flew by with me living in the confined space of my mind. I would sleep for long periods of time and I'd see dreams of Mary. She would gently hold my hands, and caress my face as she kissed me with as much love as an imagined image possibly could portray. I was still oh so in love with my darling, with my Mary. She'd never belong to that man, she will stay mine forever. 

I had asked myself what may have drove her to betray me and shatter my heart like so. Maybe I wasn't wealthy enough for her, maybe I held back when I made love her. Maybe I didn't pay attention to her and didn't notice that her loyalties were shifting. Another dubious thought would sometimes prick me: what if that man was blackmailing Mary and forcing her to kiss him and allowing him to touch her, what if he was the person to decide her marks in internship and threatened to fail her if she had not obeyed. The doctor may have been taking advantage of her angelic beauty and it was all a big misunderstanding. I regretted what I did so much that I would cry for hours in my little white room. I'd replay that dreadful night in my mind for days, weeks. I'd be there, by her window, fiddling with the lock and then invading her innocent sleep. I would feel the meek resistance of her artery to my knife, but then it would release, and she'd die oh so silently. Thinking of claiming her cast me into shame. I felt as though I could do that over and over again, and I knew it was wrong. Sometimes I'd dream about having children with her, we had two beautiful sons named Henry and Francis, and the daughter was named Mary-Anne after her mother. Escaping into that world was possibly the only comfort for my sorrows that I could afford.

Why did I act on impulse? Why did I sever the little sweet rose from its bush and let it wither just so that nobody else could enjoy it when it was already in my garden. I hated myself, I wanted to die and to be dragged into hell, have my liver ripped out of me every day and have my eyes pecked out every night. I was a horrible person, and I felt so much more than just mere hatred. I wanted them to give me the electric chair, or a lethal injection as a punishment and even that wouldn't be enough.  
The day of the trial came faster than expected and the trial itself was a blur. I didn't want to be defended by my lawyer, I wanted to be locked away from this cruel world for good. I wanted to justify the fact that I'm not married and don't have children with the jail cell and not my in aptitude for getting to know women. 

Mother and father were at the trial along with some people I vaguely remembered. At least my parents were together and they seemed generally content, and that made me happy as well. I was given ten years of time at an institution for the criminally insane somewhere in the mountains, and I gladly accepted to be taken away and helped.

I was shipped along with a few other inmates to the location, it was a pleasant little location in a positive atmosphere. It was a complex of brick buildings and I believe it was called James Amver correctional facility. I spent the next three years in a supportive, caring environment. I contrasted so much with my more nervous, more violent co-patients, that many weren't sure why I was even here. Nevertheless, I was well under way to recovery and because I behaved myself very well, I was given clearance to walk around freely and visit almost any part of the facility, excluding those off limits to patients, at any time except night. 

One of the doctors there particularly impacted my life, she was a medium heighted woman in her forties, and she seemed to take a liking to me. She'd listen attentively and give me advice and encouragement, she knew how to work with mentally, spiritually wounded patients and soon I began to feel as though I really wanted to and could indeed get better. It was difficult not to spill my guts to her but I stuck to my story as always and even discussed dreams about demons which I made up in order to further the reliability of my stories. 

The medication that was given to me helped me cope with my guilt and anxiety about killing Mary, even though I never openly stated I felt that way. I would often go to sleep happy, comfortable and my hours spent crying in bed would decrease by the week. Crying in bed was agreeably a very weak and sissy thing to be doing for a man, but the thought of my beautiful perfect girl would automatically come and automatically push water through my tear ducts. Before I felt as though my guts were being ripped out of my anus with these feelings of guilt and longing, I would cry massive pools of silent, bitter tears when I remembered the calm and pleasure I felt when I was with her. Now I felt much calmer, time and the doctors at Amver teamed up to genuinely help me overcome my pain. Maybe I'd move on and start a new life when I was done.


	14. Part 14 - Mount Massive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scenario overlaps with content from the actual game that this is based on.

I am still unsure what kind of cruel joke it was to cut funding from the Amver facility and force the many patients to experience much stress and regression when they were moved to different facilities across the region. My luck was short handed in this regard, and the grim reaper pretty much had a finger placed firmly on my life span when I was sent to Mount Massive asylum for the criminally insane. It was a worse place for a patient who has gotten better. I was mistreated, fed strange pills As though I was some type of experiment. I'd see men come in at the peak of healing, and turn out to be sick, demented and completely reversed by treatment of the facility. I, once again, was out of luck. 

The facility took little to no care about the patients and there would often me rumors about something called the Walrider project through morphogenic engines. I couldn't quite understand what the goal of such a project was, but it seemed dangerous and I did not want to be a victim of that. All I wanted was to get better and leave. I thought before that I deserved to be locked up for good, but the doctors at Amver instilled hope into me, hope that would be cruelly shredded out of me by Mount Massive. 

I hated the sick bastards there and refused to tell them anything at all regarding my condition. I refused to talk about my made up story or any story at all and was very stubborn, but the medics decided to harass me anyway and I think that even though they didn't have anything on file about my actual experience with Mary and what lead up to her slaughtering, they knew where my weak spots are and exploited them all the way. I started regressing back to crying at night and feeling my guts being wrenched out of me, then I slipped into the state of mind that I had days after my arrest: the feeling of righteousness about killing my girl, and the opinion that I was merely cleaning the world of trash. This was done to me on purpose, of course, and because the facility knew I saw demons from the file, they were probably disappointed at the fact that they couldn't get me to the point of insanity where I'd start seeing them again so they kept trying. 

Within a few months of my "treatment" I began to fantasize about Mary, about her corpse and about performing intercourse on it. I felt as though I did not want to think or even imply that in my mind, but there it was. I scavenged a needle and thread a long time ago and used it for innocent sowing and patching projects. Now I felt the need to puncture my skin with it, to penetrate others' skin with it. I would have nightmares about killing Mary that would cause me ecstasy and would lead me to wake up with an erection.   
I felt sick, I didn't want that to happen to me, but the "doctors" of Mount Massive encouraged it with their treatment. They dealt with my problems in such a way that would make me dive deeper into my insanity and sink to the bottom of the horrendous pit in my monstrous mind. It hurt me, it destroyed me. I wanted to die, I said openly that I wanted to die.   
One morning or possibly afternoon, since I was never sure of the time, two doctors came to collect me. They lead me down a hallway and made sure I wouldn't escape. They didn't say a word to me, and I was lead almost at gun point. I was going to be killed, I thought. I would be murdered.   
I was lead into a white room and was stripped bare against my will, and then I was lead down a corridor with a sign labeled "morphogenic engine". I was lead out into a massive room: men wearing hazmat gear, wielding weapons. A pair of them bent my arms painfully behind me and pushed me forward. I swung my arms and screamed, I was scared, soaked in fear: "I knew it was coming. You filthy fucking machines! You fucking machines! No! No, not again. No! No! Jack-booted fucks, I know what you've been doing to me. I know what you've been... Help! Help me! Help me, they're going to rape me! Rape! Rape!" I was released and I ran without much sense of direction. I plastered myself over a giant glass wall and begged the men behind it. "Please, help me! Don't let them do this! Don't let them! You! I know you can stop this! You have to help me! You have to..." I screamed, I pleaded with all the good that was still left in me. I was quickly collected and my trod to death continued. Those technicians were barely moved by the sight. What pigs of men. 

I was stuffed in a globular structure and tubes were forced down my nose and mouth. I felt drowsy, yet I kept my eyes wide open. Tears poured down my face in streams, and I did not want my fate to end this way for the life of me. The unknown was a big fear to me, and I would rather be hanged or receive death by the electric chair - punishments that I knew about.

I heard a rumble somewhere as the glass bubble filled up with liquid. It smelled so revolting. I began to feel immense currents of liquid being pumped into me through the blasted tubes that were inhibiting my screaming. Colors changed, space and time shifted and my sanity was taking bigger, less understandable forms. 

I was back in my room, by my sowing machine. I sat and began to sow a groom's vest for myself. My wedding with Mary was soon and I had to be prepared. I gently weave the fabric, and I could have sworn I saw people walk by but nobody noticed me. How strange of them to be in my apartment, I thought.

When my makeshift attire was prepared, I was ready to head out. I approached the door of my apartment and it was difficult to open. Then simply punched a hole through the door and turned the handle on the other side, it gave way and so I went to see Mary.   
I decided to wait for her at the coffee shop. The shop looked so destroyed, so I pulled together some tables and scavenged some cups to make it look more presentable. I also set up an alteration shop and began to work on a dress for her. I barely found any fabric, all the doors to the stores seemed to be closed so I used what I had in front of me. I decided to paint the walls with inspirational notes. "There's no place like home" and "a woman's work is never done." These were just mere examples of my creativity. I decided to make my world homy for my bride.   
There were many slut faced girls and I dealt with them just the same - I hunted them, found them and ended them. They didn't deserve me. They didn't deserve my love. I'd string them up by him ceiling and watch them hang together. I had quite a collection.  
I was sowing a dress when my bride showed up. I saw her and followed her, but she began to run. It reminded me faintly of the dream I had such a long time ago. The course of events followed the model exactly, although I never expected her to leap down the elevator shaft and hurt her leg in order to evade me. 

I didn't understand what was going on with her. Why did she run? Why did she rather choose to die than be with me? It tore at my heart so much. I have finally captured her, yet the slut even then didn't allow me to fix her and make her beautiful for myself. He broke free. Why was I denied even the little pleasures in life? What had I done wrong? The heavens were obviously toying with me. 

My beautiful bride escaped, and it angered me so much. It truly shattered whatever was left of the beating chunk of intertwined veins and arteries in my chest. I felt so empty. So so empty indeed.   
I caught up with her later, but I was too angry. I decided to string her up like the slut that she was. I decide to punish her like the rest of the whores. 

She was heavy, really heavy when I lifted her by the neck, and that displaced a beam on the already weakened ceiling. It bent down as I jolted up and there was a piercing pain in my chest. I suddenly saw everything as though hallucinogenic glasses were removed from my eyes in a split second. There were bodies of made to look like women hanging from the gymnasium ceiling - their blood having made a pool of dry cracked red on the floor. I saw everything: the disgusting, hellish building that I was in, the revolting smell of decomposing flesh, and the beam that was drawing blood and acid from my body. 

I looked down to the coughing mass on the floor. The mirage of Mary melted to reveal a horrid, dirtied man. He wheezed and coughed on the floor. He looked at my dying carcass, and his eyes communicated the simple idea of "good riddance" to me. I was alone. I was alone as I always was and always will be. 

My world was a lie from the beginning of my existence, a cruel, dirty lie. I had never accomplished anything in life, I was born and died worthless. I understood that the sluts I mutilated were fellow patients from the asylum, and I realize that "Mary" was a surviving technician, who was running from me in fear. I once again made a terrible, fatal error. 

I would pay for the error with my life.


	15. Part 15 - Harold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an epilogue which I wasn't even expecting to write, oh well.

A knock came on the door in the most unexpected time, at around eight in the evening when Magda and her husband had already dined. She was now relaxing by the fireplace and her husband was reading the daily paper he picked up at work when their blissful silence was disturbed. "I'll get it, dear." Her husband said and stretching his back, he marched to the hallway and opened the door to reveal two men dressed in semi formal attire.   
"Josef Gluskin, correct?" One of the men stated. Her husband could only nod at the suspense of his name being called. The man who spoke then presented a badge to her husband and introduced himself: "Harold Blaine, I am with the local police, and I'd like you to come with us in order to identify a body." 

Such a request was rather shocking to the settled down old couple who may have been preparing for bed, and so invasive as well. What could be so urgent that poor Magda and her husband would be bothered at quarter to nine in the night about it?

Magda was rather puzzled at whose body she could possibly have to identify. Never the less, it seemed urgent, and soon the elderly couple were in the police car, going to town. "So what's all this about?" Her husband asked with a quite annoyed tone. To that Harold answered: "Sir, I apologize to tell you, but we may have discovered the body of your son and we need confirmation from a close relative." She was shaken by that statement, and she clasped Josef's hand at the thought that after so many years of pain, she won't be able to see her son come home.   
It's been a long time since Magda has thought about her son, and she instantly felt guilt somewhere under the general anguish that was circulating through her. He's been gone for five years now, and with each passing month, his image grew dull, grey and far from reach. His mother would pray for him after his sentence and would take time every night to do so, but her faith faded with each fruitless year. 

The ride was long and very heavy with silence and angst. Thoughts were racing through Magda and Josef's mind, and poor Magda constantly had to bring her white handkerchief to her eyes.   
The town lights and the morgue flickered in the distance, and the car stopped at the dark concrete building pretty soon, letting out three of the four passengers - Harold's partner stayed since such an immense amount of people was not needed in the morgue, especially during late hours.   
Magda and Josef were lead by the concierge to the room where the body was stored and Harold also followed: "you most likely have a large amount of questions about what is going on. You see, during the time your son was a patient at Mount Massive asylum, a riot broke out, as well as a massive scandal when footage was revealed by a surviving technician from the asylum of what was really taking place. Many have since seen the footage and your son was in fact caught on that tape..." The door to an illuminated room opened - it was all white, ceramic walls and a bed covered with a long sheet right in the middle. There was a sense of desolation in it all. The mummy - the cocoon wrapped in white was indeed the son who Magda strained every nerve to wait for. This was it. Her boy has finally come home. 

Harold approached the bed and lifted the cloth from the face of the carcass - Magda looked at the revealed image with fear and shuddered at the sight. The pale face of the corpse looked extremely infected, blisters and wounds covering the entirety of the left side and a scar running from the red bag under the eye to the right cheek. The eyes were half closed, just enough to see the completely ruptured and blood filled eyeball of the left eye, and the partly infected one of the right, even the eyelids were covered in red specks. The hair seemed to still be neatly combed back, still. 

He didn't look peaceful, he looked so hopeful, so betrayed by the fact that he wasn't allowed to have a family, a normal life. It seemed as if the last thing he said was a lamentation, a plea, a request that was never fulfilled. 

"Your son suffered a fatal wound to the chest, and only lived for a few minutes before succumbing to the injury." Magda felt her husband firmly wrap his arm around her shaking, clutched shoulders - it was indeed her once little boy who loved to catch tadpoles in the stream, her helper who made dinner every night and fixed up her dresses, and, as she once thought, her pride and joy. How black and white are those memories now that she looks back at them, as if they are but an old tape of a time that nobody would ever have guessed existed. The brilliant self taught tailor, tireless worker and loving son - this is what was left of him. 

Magda would always dream of her son coming back home one day and telling them about how he has gotten better. They would then eat and spend time together. Josef would finally give his son the attention and support that he deserved his entire childhood and Magda would make sure that her son could cope and dissolve into normal daily life one day. Where have all those dreams and wishes came from and where have they gone? It's funny really, once the items in Eddie's apartment were salvageable, Magda took the time with Josef to carefully wrap the dress plans, the work table and sowing machine in order to set it up in their son's childhood room. He would be so happy to forget himself in his sowing projects and his pencil drawings. It would make him forget the hardships, it definitely would. 

A shower of tears strained down and left little droplets on the speckless ceramic floor. Magda simply couldn't contain herself any longer - she was much older and weaker than she once was, so she couldn't stand the torment she now faced. Her physical abuse, her raw hands, her two jobs where she was often demeaned were better than what she saw before herself. Her son lived and died in great pain, the window of life that he actually could enjoy like a normal human being was about 5 years wide, and the fact that Josef and she were both the primary causes of this simply destroyed the weeping woman, crushed her to bits. 

You don't usually touch bodies in a morgue, but this was an extreme case - for closure if anything. Magda reached out to her son and closed his eyes. She froze there - her fingers on two speckled half circles. He couldn't see, but she could and she would. 

There was an eerie silence to it all - nobody spoke, nobody made a sound.

The bliss was soon ruptured. 

"Sir, please tell me about the footage and the conditions under which my son died." Josef stated with an obvious repressed shake in his voice before Magda could say anything. 

"Well, as the public now knows, the true aim of the mount massive asylum was to produce ruthless killers for a certain corporation, and one of their experiments went sour which caused mayhem of great magnitudes and a riot among the patients at the asylum. Your son, according to the man who survived the riot with video evidence, became a victim to the asylum's "morphogenic engines", a series of visuals shown to patients in order to induce insanity to some extent. Afterwards, under the effect of the engine, your son went on a rampage and took the lives of roughly 150 individuals. He was then impaled in an accident, and the incident was recorded." Harold paused, asking himself if he had perhaps said too much or expressed the notions too bluntly for the poor couple. "Please, do not grieve, madam." He then handed an envelope to Josef: "This was written by your son before he was submitted to the engine." Josef opened the envelope to reveal a very small, old looking piece of paper that seems to have been preserved safely prior to making its way to the hands of Magda and himself. The marks on the piece were very small and difficult to read, they were also visibly dark red, which means they may have been written with blood and a needle: "Mother, please forget me. I am with Mary and Henry now. Eddie."   
Twelve words, three names and four punctuation marks. That's all that was left. 

It took Magda a few minutes to figure out who Mary was, for her son certainly did not mean Mother Mary, and for all she knew, she received no word from her son after she had moved out of their apartment. She then remembered Mary Lynn being mentioned at the trial and her memory was refreshed to a certain extent - perhaps Mary was a girl of his. "So, he wrote this before he had become completely insane?" Josef asked, fazed by all the dramatic events flooding him simultaneously. 

"Indeed, it seems as though he knew what was going to happen, so he wrote a note on a scrap with his blood. The scrap was discovered hidden under a drawer in the cell block your son was kept, which he could have only placed before the riot, for that area of the asylum was blocked off at the start of the riot by rubble." Harold affirmed, he obviously understood that what he said may have been too much or delivered too quickly for the elderly couple to properly receive. However this was his job, and he's seen people throw worse tantrums from news that he had revealed to them. Was it worth it to be paid a lot but have to break the hearts of so many people? 

So now at the middle of the white room stood a puzzled old man, a woman weeping bitterly into the sleeve of an old beige jacket and whimpering, a corpse with the most demented face and, of course, a police officer who was now questioning his life decisions. Magda broke the silence: "the camera footage...can we still see it?" 

The police officer was a bit hesitant since he had not described what was on the tape in detail, and maybe if he would have, it would change the couple's mind. "Are you absolutely sure? The contents of the tape may traumatize you and greatly impact your sanity." Harold paused. "I'm talking torture and genital mutilation here - it may be...too much for a woman of your age to witness, especially when done to and from a close family member." Magda simply kept weeping and asked to see the footage a second time. Harold was by law obligated to adhere to the request. He kindly asked the elderly couple to follow him as they left the morgue and were driven to the police station where a proper monitor and cassette player could be accessed. This wasn't regular movie time at night: it isn't often that you see your son stringing bodies to the ceiling of a run down gymnasium or yelling misogynic remarks with a knife in hand.   
~~~  
"And let The Lord light his path as this beautiful life ascends to heaven, God's kingdom. Even though the life of this individual was filled with much suffering and torment, let his soul be rested gently in your arms for he, too is your child. Let The Lord forgive his sins and show mercy on his soul as he is judged at the gates of eternal rest and paradise. I say this prayer in the Lord's name, amen." 

Two shadows with white faces stand and watch as a wooden casket is lowered into the wet soil and the darkness of the earth swallows up the shell of the body that has been offered. So this was the end of it, this man would never come home to see his beloved mother and father, he would never be taken care of the way that the mother wanted. 

By the grave a priest says a prayer...

The now dead man's father would never apologize to him for causing him such extreme pains and anguishes during his childhood, because the father certainly felt the burning rod of regret when he realized that his boy sat in court with bound hands because of the immense cruelties his father had shown to him. So now the empty tears falling into the already moist soil meant nothing, and never will they accomplish their purpose no matter how much of them the soil now keeping his boy captive accepts.

His mother would dream of her boy coming home one day, possibly the year she turned 64 when his sentence would be over and he would step out of the corridors and confines of a mental hospital as a new man. She wouldn't be angry at him for making a mistake, she would accept her beloved son welcomingly and would comfort and offer support until he got better and decided to start a new life. 

How nice would it be to hear the vibrant whirr of the sowing machine somewhere in a dimly lit area of the house, or perhaps the shuffling of papers. Those moment were worth their weight in gold, weren't they? Even the occasional curse when a sowing project has gone wrong wouldn't concern the mother at this point. 

Now that room will always be silent, although the mother can swear that when all life is absent in her home, she can hear subtle taps of a knife on a cutting board or the humming of an old song. She would stand up to check the kitchen, and she would be almost certain her boy would be working on an afternoon meal or simply looking through a book about interior design or clothing and humming a tune - coming up with new ideas. 

The mother would peek into the kitchen and see a dark, empty space - a table and a stove which have been untouched. A branch would knock on the window or the wind would blow rhythmically - nature was playing the cruelest of jokes on the poor old woman. 

Now she was angry - angry at herself and angry at the world. She could have not left to join her husband back at their forgotten home when he wrote to her and that would most likely save her boy, she could have left her husband earlier so that her young son wouldn't see her being physically abused and possibly, that would have prevented his encounter with his uncle too. None of what had happened to her son was his own fault - it was either hers or her husband's. 

It was just the mother and father standing there at the beginning and there they were at the end. Nobody else came because nobody else knew, and the footage that was now accessible to the world portrayed the man now resting in the grave as a villain and an ruthless agressor. 

There was no doubt that biographies and books were being written about him even as this very moment and soon there would be calls and letters to the little rural home in order to remind the poor elderly couple daily of their torment and ask questions: "Has Josef G. Abused his wife? Has he also hit his son?" These weren't the most invasive ones that pierced the lives of the already grieving couple. There were much worse ones: "Madam, how did Eddie's uncle rape him? What was your son's response to this?" Sometimes questions about who Eddie killed and why would also appear and they would unsettle the poor elderly people who now had to suffer. 

Those authors will ignore the fact that the man who they are disgracing, portraying as satan in the flesh was probably a much better, kinder and more enduring person than they ever will be. 

They don't know what it feels like - nobody does. 


	16. Part 16 - Lisa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What am I even writing about

Vast fields of yellow passed by as the little shuttle bus rocked happily towards its destination. It was midday, sunny and warm. I never imagined I would be coming back to my home town just for nostalgic reasons. It was great to have finally begged a small 3 day leave from the head of the hospital, but there was just one problem, I've known nothing but surgery after surgery and papers after papers all my life, so I didn't know what to do with my time. The bus ride was so long, I had so much time to speculate on my life... to only imagine that a little curly-haired boy from a small, miserable little town could have grown up to become a doctor in a big city and be earning enough money not only to support himself but his younger brother and older sisters. These were, of course, two-way things, because my sisters and bother would also help in various ways, but I am simply so proud of myself for my achievements. 

The reason why I've chosen to visit my home town was due to strange rumors surrounding it - something about a serial killer who was responsible for over 200 deaths being buried there? It happened on a day, a foggy memory, that I heard some nurses joking about it in the workplace, they said that such a man was responsible not only for the horrific deaths of about 200 inmates, but also a "friend of their friends" Sharon, who was walking home from work one night in the city. I asked them more about it, but it all seemed like petty womens' jokes and gossip, so I brushed over it and assumed their stories to be harmless.

It has been rather long since I've thought about the disappearance of my girlfriend - even if it happened over 5 years ago and I was already married and had children. Such an event was simply skin-peeling to me. I still remember seeing her last in my office, and then she simply vanished out of my life - she disintegrated completely and I got no word from her or her parents, since there was a "house for sale" sign hammered into their lawn and the place looked more or less deserted when I decided to confront them after about 10 unanswered phone calls. I did not find a means of contacting them and still wake up to the chilling suspense of that event once in a while. 

Nevertheless, the rumors I've heard sparked my interest, and nostalgia to visit my home town. Maybe the disappearance of this Sharon lady and the disappearance of my girlfriend were somehow liked? They DID happen around the same time after all...  
"Ding! Ding!" rang the bell of the bus: it was the final stop - a small cluster of different bus stations surrounded by a few shops. I marched down the bus steps and eyed the shops with curiosity as a group of people entered the vehicle and it sped away to take them to the city. Some of the shops here were new - I don't remember them being there when I was a kid. I remember the small breakfast and lunch parlor that workers would go to in the morning, I remember the bookstore right across from it where I would go to read comics for free, but I don't remember the coffee shop or the general store. I guess they built one to save the towns' people the trouble of going over to the next town or the city for groceries and general goods. 

I decided to grab a coffee and then enter the bookstore simply to quench my thirst for childhood memories. A little bell rang when I opened the door of the shop, it was quite a comfortable, groovy little place with some modern art on the walls and jazz music playing in the background of quiet chatting and study. A few people were at the tables, mostly students working on their laptops and a few of them writing things on physical paper. I casually made my way to the counter to see a lady with her back turned to me manning one of the coffee presses. "Ahem!" I coaxed and tapped the round bell on the counter. The woman turned around: "What can I get y- Francis? Is that you?" she broke off in a surprised tone. "Lisa!" I shouted "No way! I don't remember the last time I saw you!" she was a schoolmate of mine, I've known her for two years before I graduated and moved away to go to a university in the city - she was three years younger than me. "Brad! Can you take over for me? Please?" Lisa shouted at the door next to the counter, and a rather tired looking tall guy of about 25 years of age exited the break room. "Eh, sure, but you owe me one." he said in a rather annoyed tone.

Lisa sat down with me an an empty table by the window.

"So what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" I asked. I had so many questions, so many topics to discuss. "Well, first of all, it's so great to see you, Francis, It's been such a long time. I got married soon after I graduated, and had two sons. We divorced a few years ago, sadly, so I moved back to my parents' place with my kids. Now I'm working this minimum wage miserable job...but it's better than nothing." The happiness faded from my eyes: "Is that so? I'm very sorry to hear that." She shook he head: "Not at all. You don't have to show me any sympathy. It wasn't safe for me or my children to be around my husband anyway. He's a highly wanted target by a mass mafia of corporations. I know that sounds so silly, but that's how it is..." Woah...I thought to myself, holy crap! Mass mafia of corporations? What did that guy do? Get some nude photos of the president or something? That, I do agree, was a silly thought but it was the first thing that came to mind. "Why...?" was all I could utter at this point. "My husband blew the whistle on the corporation he was working for, haven't you seen the video titled "The truth about Murkoff"? It's all over the internet and parts of it were released on live television just about a year or two ago." Video? what video? I was too busy with work to watch any TV or listen to any conversations about modern news coverages. "Is that so?" I asked "I've never heard of such thing - being a doctor leaves you up to your neck with work and stress to manage - I haven't heard of anything that went on for the last few years." She rolled her eyes: "It's basically a tape of my husband walking around an asylum and filming a bunch of crazy people eating and killing each other. There was this one guy who was literally Satan in the flesh, he would give his inmates forced sex changes - he actually came from our town, can you imagine? Isn't it crazy how small the world is?" she said in a rather superficial tone for the nature of the information she was giving me. No way! So the rumors were true then! There was a serial killer who came from my town, she continued speaking: "And apparently he killed three women in the city a long time ago and somehow ended up in the asylum that my husband was filming. What was his name again? Eddie uh... some complicated last name I don't remember. It's still creepy though." That's when something clicked in my head, I almost shouted this and startled a bunch of students at nearby tables: "Lisa, when I worked in the city, my girlfriend from about five years ago disappeared - she kept complaining to me that her old partner was demeaning her and that she wanted to leave the city with me. She had gone that day and I never saw her again...could it be that her killer and the person you speak of were the same guy?" She looked creeped out, I was creeped out as well. Suddenly, a scene flashed in my head: I was getting on the school bus and I saw a kid - small, lonely looking, lots of bruises on his face, hugging his backpack and staring out the window. I sat next to him and asked him his name. He responded. His hair was dark and ruffled, his eyes were steel blue and seemed to reflect the idea of pain and malice in great quantities...

-Hi! My name's Francis, what's yours?  
-Uh...Hello Francis, my name is Eddie.

I kept staring at Lisa - how could I not have not thought about this event before?

Everything came together...it was indeed him.


End file.
